


Poly Geraskefer

by your_cringy_father



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Modern Era, Multi, Poly Relationships, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Trans Jaskier | Dandelion, Trans Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Yennefer loves her boys and they love her, and thats it, as a treat, author has only watched like... 4 episodes of the show, but thats it, geralt has trauma so i dont have to, i dont THINK this is gonna get NSFW cause it hasn't so far but if it does, irrational use of the word cornflower to describe jaskiers eyes, no beta we die like men, same goes for the other two honestly, yall know where i stand, you can have cis geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_cringy_father/pseuds/your_cringy_father
Summary: Because why not? A modern au of this poly throuple because god i love them.Geralt's a caretaker at a horse therapy place. Yen works in business. Jaskier is a musician.Send in prompts for the trio if ya'd like!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 11
Kudos: 96





	1. How Do They Meet?

**Author's Note:**

> im not smart enough to figure out how to format this-- also legit send prompts of shit you'd like to see if ya want. i only have a few ideas but. hey. power to the people!

It’s not often Geralt meets someone so resistant to horse therapy when they have willingly joined. Sure, he’s had his stubborn few, but their eyes always melt warm when the horses nuzzle their palm. 

No one’s been this stubborn since, well, himself. 

Leaning against the wooden internal exposed frame of the barn, hand loosely petting Roach as he watches, for the fifth time, this woman approaches a horse. She walks, rather-- stomps, up to Storm with frustration clear in her features and thrusts her arm out to the horse. Reactive, Storm whinnies and nervously stutters backwards into the depths of her stall.

“Stupid pony--” She hisses under her breath, and Geralt snorts from the opposite side of the barn. 

“You’re being too aggressive.” He calls out, uncrossing his arms and approaching her as carefully as he would a feral beast. 

“I’ve been at this for hours! They just don’t like me.” She seethes.

“I’ve never met a horse that couldn’t grow to love a person.” He says and moves himself to her side, reaching into the stable to give Storm an open palmed pat on the cheek, “C’mon girl.” He whispers. 

The horse, though hesitant, follows him forward so Storm’s head poked out of the stable again. 

“Thank you,” He says, “Here, for you.” Geralt pulls out a small handful of grain from a pack by his hip. Storm happily munches the feed from his palm and Geralt gives the woman an expectant look.

Through the bravado and tough exterior, he knows she’s nervous. Horses are bigger than one would expect, and intune to emotions. The seminar they start all clients with explains, though Geralt thinks it rather silly, that they could tell if you were a kind soul. These people, the clients currently now in the Witcher ranch, need that confirmation. From anyone, even if its from a horse. The opposite reaction would cause… emotional turmoil. He doesn’t blame her for being anxious. 

“You can pet her.” He blanches. Alright, so maybe he was less of a therapist and more of a caretaker, but he knows the way the ranch works.  
“I know I can!” She retorts, arms dangling at her sides and unmoving. Her dark hair pools around her forearms, and she runs a hand through it on habit.  
Her eyes flash through a megaton of emotions before finally, she seems to make a decision. 

She reaches out with caution this time, being slow and deliberate. Her manicured hand pets the upper cheek and along the neck of Storm with such fragility, Geralt wonders if she’s aware these horses are made from tougher stuff. A few more passes, and he watches the molten color in her eyes cool to a simmer. There it was. The same reaction everyone seems to have.  
Storm made no harsh reactions, as she usually does. Simply munches on food and presses her heavy skull into a delicate hand, asking for more touch. Geralt holds back a chuckle. 

The tension seems to withdraw from this woman’s shoulders, a smile flickering only once on her face before she recoils backwards and clears her throat. A dark blush across her cheeks as she looks away.  
“I don’t know why it was making this so difficult, obviously it’s fine now.” 

Geralt huffs and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Internally, he notes that this is definitely her first day on the ranch then. 

“Yennefer.” She says finally, uncrossing her arms and watching Geralt slowly switch out Storm’s general feed. 

“Hm?” Geralt grunts, slipping a bag full of cleaning materials over his shoulders. 

“My name is Yennefer. And… I don’t even know why I’m here.” Yennefer chuckles to herself, looking exasperated, “I don’t even really like animals.” She trails off, dark eyes following Geralt’s slow movements. 

They stare at each other for a moment, and Geralt side steps out of her way. A dark feeling was ruminating in the space between, and gods know he couldn’t afford that right now. Eskel would murder him. 

“You’re behind on the group, they’ll be over by the grove by now.” He points out the barn doors, past a few coops, to the distant figures of the group. This wasn’t his job. He’s not a therapist. Geralt is not good enough with his own issues for this. Dammit, he isn’t even really supposed to talk to the clients. 

“Shit.” Yennefer hisses, pulling out her phone to check the time, “I didn’t realize I was… shit.” She stuffs her phone back in her pocket and begins taking off towards the group as to not fall behind. 

She’s just some client, do not-- Geralt, you have a job to do. 

“Yennefer.” He calls after her. Yennefer spins back around, eyes wide but taming their surprise.  
He’s groaning at himself, a growl under his breath as he says, “My name is Geralt. I’ll be around the ranch. You can…” He sighs, “Come find me if you keep having trouble with the horses.” 

She gives him a sly, knowing, smile and winks, “Nice to meet you then.” And books it into the sunlight. 

Geralt has half the mind to slam his head into the nearest wooden structure. Roach whines and her muzzle pushes him lightly, having finally trotted up behind him. He pats her and picks up the rest of his materials, ready to move onto the next stable.  
That woman is trouble. 

\---

Months later, when they start dating, Geralt counts his blessings. It’s not easy to believe yourself worthy of affection, especially when you’re a giant ex-military bastard with extremely evident anti-war ideals. He doesn’t exactly make a figure of long-term relationship. But somehow, Yennefer goes from liking him to loving him, in a way he doesn’t fully understand. 

It throws his mind in a loop when he reminds himself, when she sleeps in his bed, under his covers, that this beautiful woman actually does love him. Geralt doesn’t believe in a god, for the world is too cruel, but he thanks them anyway. 

Geralt felt no need to go searching anywhere else. No ‘window-shopping’ as Yennefer had described. He was perfectly happy with just the two of them against the world and the pull in his chest that says he was with his soulmate. Not that he could ever vocalize that, not in hell. 

But then he meets Jaskier and it’s like his entire world flips again. 

It’s late and Yennefer is out of town on a business meeting with higher up corporate companies. No, he doesn’t understand a single word of it, but she works hard and sometimes saves lives, so he’s proud of her anyway. Still, he gets bored pacing in their apartment, so he heads out on the town to a bar he remembers Eskel and Lambert talking about over lunch. Something about entertainment on Saturdays being “some of the most amazing music” he’s ever heard. Well, it’s Saturday and he’s bored. Why not? 

He pushes past the Oxenfurt bar doors and revels in the busy atmosphere. While he’s certainly an isolationist, there’s a great comfort in knowing he won’t stand out among a crowd when that crowd is either drunk or busy in conversation. 

Geralt slides to the bar and sits down on a stool, ordering a rum mixed with coke to sip. He’s far past his younger years of getting drunk. 

The crowd is excitedly buzzing around a single, though small, stage. On top stands a single man with a guitar and band in the background. Said local gathering seems to love him, shuffling with each other while waiting between songs. The star on stage seems to discuss something with the band and with a grin, they begin to drum up a beat. 

“Welcome, welcome kind patrons! I do believe you’ve been expecting me?” There’s a muddled answer from the crowd and he smiles in return, “Very clear response, thank you! Remember to tip your waitresses and me, if you’d like,” He dips down to show a wide brimmed hat that sits on the edge of the stage. He takes a final deep breath and says into the standing mic, “This is The Horror and The Wild!” 

You were raised by wolves and voices  
Every night I hear them howling deep beneath your bed  
They said it all comes from you

Geralt watches with fascination as the words leak and soothe his overstressed ear drums with sultry tones. The song continues, and soon the bar fades from Geralt’s vision. It was just this man, his song weaving a story through his brain and breaking open every sealed callus in his heart to lyrically heal. Had Geralt the mind to, he’d blame the man of being the fae, or some siren, because of how drawn he was to his singing. 

The singer pauses in the song, the band coming to a silence, and Geralt worries the song is over. However, moments later, the bard sharply inhales to shout; 

Give me back my heart, you wingless thing! 

Geralt is already out of his seat, basically abandoning his drink, and muscling his way through the crowd. He manages to politely make his way to the stage, fumbling with his wallet. 

Dropping in a twenty dollar bill, his gaze meets the singers, and he draws his jaw shut so tightly, he hears his teeth click. With those cornflower eyes, the man winks with a wicked grin and sings directly to him for a moment; 

Welcome to my table, bring your hunger! 

He has to focus very intently on keeping his face from burning up with heat. Just turn around, Geralt, just forget it. He’s definitely hot, but you are in a very happy committed relationship. His heart sinks, what if Yennefer found out? Not only that he had a very… intimate eye-fuck with this singer, but that he even considered someone being his future partner? 

Hell, would she even believe him if he said he was bisexual? He certainly didn’t fit the stereotypical idea. 

The song pulls to a lull and he watches with great conflict as the singer softly says: 

Remember me I ask… Remember me I sing. 

Before breaking back into the chorus with a tone that could break his throat with how intensely he belted it. His passion, his care and storytelling skills could bring all of the city to the ground. Geralt understood why these people love him so much. 

He stands, feeling guilty, for a moment longer before the song ends with a drum line and the crowd explodes into cheers. 

Geralt turns, embarrassed, he shouldn’t have even gone up here without telling her. What if she thought he was cheating on him? A distant reminder pounds in the back of his head, something Vesemir told him. Past experiences not influencing his present? Right. Yes, Yennefer was nothing like… Gods dammit. 

He barely notices he hasn’t moved until a hand lands on his shoulder. He jolts, focusing on in front of him to barely register that the bard was in front of him and speaking to him. 

“Thanks for your donation!” The singer says cheerfully, holding the twenty between his fingers and waving it.

“It’s not a problem,” He blurts, blinking, “You’re… an amazing singer.” 

The man preens under the praise, eyes lighting up with joy, “Thank you! Ah, yes, I’m glad my voice holds strong these days. Being here every week has certainly strained my throat.” 

Geralt, don’t. Do not. It’s not the time to be thinking about other ways to wreck his throat. 

“Yes, ah, you did… good.” Gods, he was dumb.

“Though, as much as I enjoyed the donation, I think I must give it back to you.” 

Now that started him, eyebrows creasing in concern, “It’s-- I didn’t give you false cash right?” 

“Not at all! I could use this for my next meal, but I think I’d rather,” He pulls out a pen and scribbles across the dollar for a bit before sheepishly handing it out to him, “give it back with my number.” 

Geralt is dumbstruck, at a loss for words. He simply takes the bill back and nods with what he hopes is convincing confidence.  
“Not a man of words, hm? Well. If you ever want to tell me some you know,” He taps the bill, “Call me. Rather, text me. Maybe we could… set up a date?” 

Was he really… being hit on? 

Before he can even think of a good answer, he croaks out, “Yes. Definitely.” 

Nervousness that he hadn’t even seen in the singer’s expression smooths over. He gives him one last wink before crawling back on stage and talking with the band behind the stage. 

Geralt turns the twenty over in his hand and reads it. His number, a heart and… 

XO Jaskier

“Jaskier…” He says, as if testing the words on his tongue. Foreign, but not in a bad way. He checks it twice more and before he can make more of a fool of himself, Geralt exits the bar with a heavy heart. 

How the hell was he going to tell this guy no? 

Yennefer returns the next day, and after treating her like a princess for what feels like hours, she starts to gather something is wrong. 

“Geralt,” She laughs as he furiously tries to cook more pancakes, “Is something wrong?” 

He freezes. Worry knits into Yen’s features as he seems to gape for words that aren’t there. His jaw is tense, and he sees the vein in his head pop like it does when he’s stressed out. 

Before he can say anything, she stands up and sweeps over to him in her black silk robe. Yen pulls the pan from his hands, placing it on an off burner. Geralt turns to her, and she can see him quickly retreating into a cold, aloof place. 

She takes his face in her hands, “Sweetheart? Speak to me, yes?” 

He worries his lip between his bottom teeth, looking down with a scowl. 

“I made…” He sneers, “A mistake.” 

She blinks, rather confused, “Okay?” 

“You were gone yesterday and I went to a bar,” The words spill out of him with frustration and strife, like he hates himself for what he’s saying, “And this singer was there and I got flirted with and took their number.” 

She waits expectantly, “Have you… texted them?” 

“No, I feel terrible. I didn’t flirt with them, Yen, I swear. They just… gave me their number.” 

She snorts and upon seeing his instant recoil, she shushes him with a brush of her thumb across his cheekbone, “You didn’t make a mistake being flirted with and given a number by some girl.” 

He grits his teeth and says, as forced he can, “Boy.” 

Yen gives him a curious look, “Boy?” 

“A guy gave me his number.” 

“Well okay, you didn’t make a mistake being flirted with and given a number by a boy.” 

He turns, looking her in the eyes finally with a look of shock. It’s endlessly endearing, but equally worrying in Yennefer’s book.  
“Geralt I’ve dated more women than you and your family combined. If you get hit on by a guy and furthermore,” She sighs, “It’s okay if you like being hit on by guys.” 

“You’re not angry?”

“Of course not! You’re ah,” She smirks shamelessly, “A rather attractive man. Which is to say, you’re hot as shit-- I’m not surprised.” 

“But you’re not upset I’m…” He struggles with the word. 

“Bisexual? Not at all. Or pan, whatever label you find fits you best, darling.” 

He lets his head hit her with a shuddering sigh, grinning, “I...I love you.” 

She can feel his smile when she kisses him, looping her arms behind his neck. 

Yennefer pulls back momentarily and looks at him excitedly, “Can I see who it was, by the way?” 

Geralt gives her a confused look as if he momentarily forgot he even existed. 

“Oh, yeah,” He pulls out his phone and finds his instagram through the bar’s website. He picks the first one that he sees, one of the singer on the stage in his element. The lighting is stunning. 

He turns the phone to Yen and she gasps in delight, “Oh wow he’s hot too--” She laughs and scrolls through his instagram for a moment longer. She clicks off the phone and looks over to Geralt with excitement; “We’re gonna have a long talk about polyamory darling, because if you wanted to date him, I definitely want a chance at a piece of that too.” 

\--

When Yennefer meets Jaskier, she’s not proud to say they didn’t hit it off right away. That’s alright, she assures herself, they don’t have to all date each other. She’s content sharing Geralt with the bard and keeping amiable discussions between Jaskier and her. 

A date between them went mostly quiet, not feeling very connected. Not unhappy, really, but certainly not blazingly in love like she and Geralt or Jaskier and Geralt. The thing is, she knows she likes him. He’s handsome, he’s funny, and every time Geralt talks about him, she feels almost envious that she hasn’t felt the same connection with Jaskier. She knows she can like him, she just needs the right mood. 

Oh gods, what if she was somehow fucking this up? She thinks it over at work one day, tapping her pen against her pad of paper, doodling absentmindedly. Yen should be working, but she could care less right now. 

Maybe it’s because they didn’t meet in an unexpected way. Both parties had known the date was coming and met beforehand. While she and Geralt did those anyway, it was because they already had the catalyst of falling. 

Yennefer slams her hands down on her desk, grinning. That’s it! She’d surprise the man with something he didn’t expect in her best and him in his. This way, they’d see each other the same way Geralt had met them both. 

Right away, she went to scribble out her plan. Fuck work, she had a bard to fall in love with. 

Later that evening, she texts Geralt to send Jaskier to a nearby park in his Sunday best. No other details other than that. It’s, well, suspicious. 

Still, Jaskier has nothing else to do and Geralt is insistent. He hopes this isn’t her way of murdering him. That’d be incredibly unsexy. 

He dresses up, cream button up with black slacks and black faux-suede chelsea boots. Jaskier glances at himself in a mirror as he leaves and, with a mischievous grin on his face, unbuttons the top two fastens of his shirt. Just for a little tease. 

As he walks down to the park, a guilt gnaws at his stomach. Jaskier can tell this is going to work somehow, or he’s going to go down trying to make it so. She was… stunning to say the least. Her humor matches his own and hearing her sing for the first time brought him to a time he couldn’t describe. She was his perfect woman in dark fitted dresses. And gods, he wanted her to be his girlfriend the same way Geralt was his boyfriend. 

But he couldn’t tell when to give up. When was it too much? Was something about him just not a match for her, and was that enough for her to send him the message that, no-- this will never happen between us. He could work with just Geralt… he just simply wishes she was there too. 

His face burning, he slows his steps as he enters the park. All Jaskier could hope now is that this wasn’t an elaborate break up. He couldn’t stand to cry in front of her. 

Four steps in and he notices a large blanket spreading across the grass near the front gates that led to the top of a hill. Jaskier leans over to get a view of who was lucky enough to have a picnic right now only to meet Yennefer’s gaze. 

To say she is beautiful, is an understatement. Her black slim dress matches her perfectly, slit running up the dress to her thigh. Black flats curving around her heel and stiletto nails painted a stunning purple. Her eyes glow under long black lashes, and it takes all of Jaskier’s energy to not buckle over in the presence of such beauty. 

“Ah, Yen--” 

She stands and saunters over, smiling as he grows more flushed with red, “Jaskier! I’m glad you came. I wanted to have a proper unexpected meet, I hope this was satisfactory?” 

Jaskier simply nods, perhaps too excessively. Damn it man, where’s your charming bravado? 

He picks up her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles, “Indeed, Yennefer. Thank you for inviting me!” 

She giggles and leads him, hand in hand, over to the picnic blanket spread among the grass under an oak tree. 

“Did you plan all of this?” He asks her, bemused. 

She shrugs, pressing a single finger to her lips, “I’ll never tell.” Yen then pulls a picnic basket from its side to her, and opens it. 

Inside is an array of fruits and a proper meal, what seems like pesto chicken salad and a large travelling mug. 

He half expects it to be water, but is delightfully surprised when she pours two glass cups full of a pink rose drink with a sweet strawberry smell. 

Jaskier sips it and wow, she’s definitely been a bartender. Before he even asks, she’s already explaining, “Dogwood punch, or just… sparkling raspberry lemonade and shit ton of rosé.” He snorts and takes another long languid sip. He certainly doesn’t miss the look Yen gives him at that. 

Soon they’re digging into their meal, reclining in the blanket and talking about their lives. He’s surprised to hear Yen is largely a ‘no romantic connections’ person, but made an exception for Geralt. That they met at a therapy stable function and that she still goes, but can’t talk with Geralt anymore during. She pouts at that. Her family is rather distant, and he doesn’t push the topic when she says curtly that, “They’re not in the picture anymore”. 

Apparently, bad coming out stories were what they had in common because in response he tells her all about his life. He starts to say he came from a small town, but bites his lip and redoes his response. 

He explains he’s from a rather large and rich family, but their response to him coming out as not only gay, but as a trans man, wasn’t taken well. Jaskier doesn’t miss Yen’s burning glare of anger through the clouds when he mentions how he was homeless for a long time, singing from stage to stage for cash. He tells the story of how he got lucky when he came to Oxenfurt, because the bartender was a kind elderly man with good spirit and fantastic choice in men. He was quickly accepted and paid weekly to play songs at the bar.  
Jaskier pauses, licking his lips and letting out a sigh, “I still haven’t really settled on a place to stay. Linus has been nice enough to let me bed above the bar in a spare room. But… well, it’s not a permanent place.”

He covers his face with his hands, feeling his face screw up in anxiety, “I feel horrible for taking up his space like this. The man has such better things to do than house a…” The slur he knows is on the tip of his tongue is left unsaid. His jaw clenches, gods this is the worst way to continue a date. 

Slowly, he feels hands hold his own and he looks over to see Yen’s dark brown eyes are full of worry. Jaskier’s about to apologize when she tugs on his palms hard enough to jerk him into sitting up. Yennefer grins, “No more of that, bard,” He burns at the nickname, “Your anxiety is overwhelming you. Cmon, let’s…” She pauses and looks around, eyes widening when she sees the slightly large hill behind them. 

“When was the last time you rolled down a hill?” 

Through slightly damp eyes, he laughs and runs with her, hand in hand, up the hill. They’re wearing fancy clothes and it’s dusk, people are definitely watching. But he squeezes her hand and she squeezes back, then suddenly it doesn’t matter anymore. 

They lay head to head and do a quick count down before nudging themselves down the hill. And wow, it’s a bigger hill than intended. 

It’s laughter, child-like, and the innocent love between children. It’s perfect, more perfect than anything Jaskier could have chosen. Her wild hair getting in her fair just enough so he can reach out and brush it away is the tenderness that lights up the butterflies in his gut. 

And yeah, maybe he really really likes her. And maybe she really really likes him and his stupid messy hair and his joyful oceanic eyes. Maybe he likes her soft hand in his and her bright grin. Maybe he’s a huge fan of how her chin fits just in the space above his shoulder for her to rest her head. 

It’s innocent.

And then, maybe, Jaskier goes a little too quickly down a hill and some large piece of rock is there just out of reach of their usual rolls, but with his terrible aim, his skull connects with hard stone just enough for him to yelp in pain, 

He reaches the bottom of the hill last, and Yennefer is, well, horrified! Dear gods, her date’s head is bleeding so much, it drips down the front of his face. Jaskier, however, bites back a grin when his hand pulls away with blood and well dammit, he knows this will ruin this shirt! 

His biting back smiles turn into giggles, which turns into Yennefer’s exasperated laughter.  
And it feels innocent. 

20 minutes later, they’re sitting in the emergency room, Jaskier’s head wrapped with gauze and four stitches. Through her laughter, Yennefer grabs her hand and looks serious for a moment.  
“Gods, I’m sorry Jas. This,” She giggles, “This isn’t how I intended this to go, I swear.” 

Jaskier stares at her for a moment with a dumbstruck look on his face, “Maybe it’s the pain medication, but… I’d really love to kiss you right now.” He says with a grin. 

And she kisses him without a second thought, feeling their teeth hit awkwardly as they laugh through the subtle make out in the ER. 

As they smile and hold each other, covered in little amounts of blood, sweat, and several grass stains on clothes that cost more than they should, a thought passes both of their minds. 

‘ Alright. They could definitely make this work. ‘


	2. Trauma is Rough Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope this doesn't come across as romanticizing trauma or ptsd tbh. i have ptsd and i tried to make this as true to my own experience as possible. if you get bad vibes, lemme know! 
> 
> Anonymous Request on Tumblr: Maybe a chapter with yen/jask/ger having a panic attack bc of some specific trauma from their past and the other two helping?
> 
> Thanks for the prompt ‘non! 
> 
> ((You can request prompts for this story through the comments or through my tumblr!))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like, support my work through my Ko-fi or through asks on my blog! 
> 
> KO-FI: https://ko-fi.com/yourarodad  
> TUMBLR: your-cringy-father
> 
> MAJOR TW!!!: transphobic slurs/way of speech, violence (against transphobe to be fair), nonconsensual flirting/sexual harassment, panic attacks

Jaskier’s Saturdays were still going as usual, taking gigs on the Oxenfurt stage. The drunk patrons, general cheer, and now accompanied with two incredibly hot people who actually liked him. Absolutely wild. While the pressure to perform well boils high in his blood when he steps back up on that stage, this time knowing two pairs of eyes held the most important opinion in the room. 

It’s unnerving. 

But Jaskier is nothing but a performer, so he inhales sharp and grins twice as deadly for the faces he doesn’t know in the crowd. This night is the same as the rest, for the most part. Run through some newer projects he’s working on through the nights to perfect, drop in some classic crowd pleasers. It’s a recipe for a pleasant night like any other. Sweating, hair stuck to his skull, he never feels as alive. Running through the last bridge of the song, he nearly falls off the damn stage-- but wheels back in time to land a finishing chord. Crowd ablaze, drunk off their minds, readily prepared for a great evening on the dance floor, Jaskier feels his job is done. 

He’s… exhausted. Music is his muse, his passion and love! But leaving the home to be this social, this extroverted-- well it’s still something he needs to adjust. Fatigue pulls achingly at his muscles and Jaskier spends a moment revelling in the conflict of physical tiredness and the overwhelming joy of bringing together a crowd. 

A hand taps his shoulder as he hops off stage and Jaskier half expects it to be Geralt or Yennefer, maybe one of the band-- but instead it’s one of the crowd members. A larger, bulky, man with a short to the skull bright cropped hair. Jaskier can practically taste the alcohol rolling off the other in waves. His jaw sets uncomfortably, but he musters a smile. He gets approached by drunk folk sometimes, it’s not too strange. But something about his stance, leaning almost over Jaskier and down at him… feels wrong. 

“Had one too many, did we?” He quirks, glancing across the crowd to see any glimpse of his significant others. 

“Yeah but that’s not somethin’ bad, is it?” The stranger gives him an attempt at big innocent eyes, “I just wanted to talk to you.” 

“That’s kind of you!” Jaskier says. The stranger takes a step forward into his space and Jaskier takes two back. He’s not entirely defenseless, he knows this. 

“Well I’ve been comin’ here for awhile now and man,” He whistles, wolfish grin on his face, “You have such a wonderful voice. Always thought I was just so out of you league to make a move n’ then I learned well…” The stranger pauses and snorts, “Well you’re the best of both worlds, eh?” 

Jaskier feels his stomach drop to his feet, a panicked stripe of fear licking at his heels. Everything in him says to run, and gods does he want to. But right now the only way back to the crowd was through the man, as they were pushed back into some dark unused tables away from the stage. 

“What do you mean?” He decides to bite back, sneering. 

“You got all the looks of a boy but the bits of a gal, right? You’re a transgender?” 

“That’s not--!” Jaskier chokes, biting hard on his lip, “Get away from me!” Not even bothering with answer his questions, he decides to try and push past. He’s met with a solid mass of muscle and a lengthy glance at a blue stripe tattoo on his bicep. Of course. 

“Watch your tongue, girly,” The stranger snarks back, grip tightening on his forearm, “You’re lucky I’m even looking your way. No one would want a fucking freak like you. Just take the shit you get and be glad I even looked your way.” His fingernails dig deep into Jaskier’s arm, who lets out a yelp of pain. 

“I said-- Get away from me!” Jaskier snaps and reels back his fist, landing a punch square in the man’s disgusting nose. The man howls in pain, staggering back and loosing his grip on Jaskier just enough for him to slip out. He’s never been more happy to book it through a crowd. The noise draws enough attention and now the gentle murmur of gossip spreads through the bar. Did someone see him just punch a guy? What if they didn’t see the bastard being transphobic? He feels tears well up in his eyes momentarily, what if he lost his job? 

Pushing numbly through the crowd, Jaskier doesn’t breathe until he’s outside the bar. Bile tickles the back of his throat, causing him to gag and lean heavily against a lamp post outside. Before he can even begin to understand what’s going on, numbness starts to set in on his fingers and hands, his breath coming in short gasps. Oh gods. Oh stars he’s having a panic attack outside his work at midnight in the middle of a street. 

Trembling, he vaguely registers the cool breeze of the evening against the hot flushing skin that comes in waves. Breath coming shorter and shorter, he chokes on his own brief air. He’s gonna die. Fuck, he’s gonna die here. 

Through the blurry mist of tears, he sees someone approach with such gentle cautiousness. 

“Jaskier? Jaskier!” It takes a moment, but Jaskier can distinctly tell the voice is Geralt. Dear gods, was that Geralt? Beside him, a form he assumes is Yennefer, elbows him. 

“Don’t shout, Geralt.” She hisses at him, and she moves closer to him. Jaskier must be a mess right now, it’s extremely embarrassing. “Jaskier, love, can you hear me?” 

Through the gasps, he tries to speak, “I can’t-- Yen I can’t breathe--” The way his voice croaks draws more blubbering tears from him, nearly doubling over when he slams a hand over his mouth. 

“Just nod, can I touch you?” 

He nods, nails biting into his cheek. 

She reaches forward and pulls him into a hug. For a few moments, she lets him sob on her shoulder, desperately clawing at her for some grip on the reality around him. Nothing felt real-- was any of it? 

Suddenly, she takes his hand and presses it just above her heart, shaking hands meeting smooth skin.   
“Breathe in and out with me, alright?” She whispers, as if it was a secret between them. 

He nods and watches as she takes a long breath in, holds it, and releases it again. The first few passes are a failure, and he bites on his lip in frustration when he tries again. She continues to gently coax him on, not moving her eyes from him, tipping his chin to focus on her alone. At one point, she whispers something to Geralt, who begins waving and making movement out of his eyesight. Vaguely, he thinks he hears him dispersing something or someone. 

Soon, his breath slows and through hiccups, he can breath normally. A hand follows Yen’s and Jaskier is transferred into Geralt’s large embrace while resting his weight on Yennefer. 

“Yen,” He cries, letting his head rest on her’s, “I’m sorry-- I didn’t mean to--” 

“Goodness, both of you, hm?” She laughs, though it’s weak and raw, “Forget that, Jaskier-- you have no reason to apologize. You are entirely alright. Just breathe, sweetheart.” 

Geralt runs his hands through his hair, a steady weight of reality in an unsteady world. He cautiously tilts up Jaskier’s head and whispers, “Is it alright if I kiss you?” And gods, Jaskier would like nothing else right now then to remember how it felt to connect with life again so he leans up and captures those lips with tears running down his face. 

Though brief, the kiss reminds him the people in front of him care. Jaskier sighs and pushes his face back into Geralt’s torso, holding Yen's hand while she flutters with her phone, looking for an Uber to drive them home. 

A voice breaks through the cloud of soft comfort Yennefer envelops them both in. 

“Watch it, fucker! I’m just trying to fucking talk--” 

It’s him, it’s the stranger. Immediately, Jaskier’s breath picks up again and Yen’s eyebrows knit together. Slowly, she puts together the pieces. And, subsequently, so does Geralt. 

He’s trying to push through past Linus who, while old, definitely not weak-- and holding him back inside the bar while a sour look marks his features to match his bleeding nose. 

Yennefer slams her phone back into her pant’s pocket and Jaskier can see the rage boiling in her eyes. It makes his heart flutter. 

But, it seems before she’s able to act, Geralt is letting Jaskier into her grasp and walking over to the stranger. Now, while Geralt wasn’t any more than a teddy bear these days, he did not skip leg day, so to say. He was still a ragged ex-marine with more killing experience than he’d like and a mad dog face better than most. So, watching him stride towards this, now noticeably more terrified, transphobic piece of shit and pick him up by the front of his shirt was one of the hottest things Jaskier and Yennefer have ever seen him do. 

“What did you do?” Geralt scowls, nose to nose with the stranger. 

“Nothing! It’s a fuckin’ bar ain’t it? I’m allowed to flirt with who I damn well like!” That only fuels the churning anger in Geralt’s chest. He swings the man on a pivot and pushes him against the door frame, snarling; 

“Try again.”

“If he’s,” The man points furiously at Jaskier, who’s partially covered by Yennefer standing fiercely in front of him, “Gonna be at a gay bar, he’s not ‘llowed to be all pissy and sensitive when a man hits on him! Should be lucky, that one! I’m doin’ him a service!” 

Geralt practically shouts as he pulls him out of the bar by force and gut punches him with enough force to make him buckle-- only to slam his skull into Geralt’s knee. The resounding crack brings a litany of sympathetic “oooh’s” from the crowd.   
“If you’re smart,” Geralt starts, watching the man with disgust as he scrambles to his feet, “You’ll never return. No bar is permission to flirt with people who don’t want it. Fuck. Off.” 

The patrons of the bar are uneasy, and Linus himself is barking mad at Geralt as the stranger pulls himself angrily to his feet. He shouts as he leaves, but Geralt barely seems affected as he makes sure the man turns tail and runs. 

After taking the brunt of Linus’ scolding, over taking care of the patrons and not being violent, Geralt calmly explains what he thinks happened. Linus looks between the three of them, face softening at the tear-stained expression on Jaskier’s face. 

“Alright, alright. That man’ll be banned from the bar, he was a nuisance.” He glances up at Geralt and frowns, “Be careful who you start fights with in this city, young man. Your heart is good to protect your boy, but you’re no good to your love’s dead.” Linus breaks momentarily, clearing his throat from grief before waving his hand as if to toss away any remaining sadness in the air.   
“Now everyone go back ‘n. Better pay for your drinks, no discounts over boy brawls, you know!” And the crowd mumbles indistinctly, Linus herding them all back into the bar. Soon, the beat of music starts again and the street outside falls quiet.

Geralt looks over to Jaskier before rushing to his side and gathering the man in his embrace.   
“Are you alright?” He says, voice rasping. 

“M’ okay.” Jaskier mumbles back. 

Yennefer sniffs, desperately wiping away any tears in hopes of saving her eye makeup. Jaskier, unreasonably serene, grabs for her like a child reaching for a toy. She weeps quietly as she holds Jaskier so tight, he nearly bursts with love. 

“I love you.” She kisses promises across his cheeks and forehead, letting him heedfully wipe mascara tears from her face.   
“I love you both.” Jaskier sighs, letting himself mix between the smells of sandalwood and jasmine.   
Geralt decides to say nothing, holding them both tighter. 

It’s a rough night, and it’s hard to say goodnight when they finally reach Yennefer’s apartment. Jaskier definitely says goodbye, but never lets go of either of their hands. Eventually, he resigns to letting himself get pulled into a sleepover, resting between two of the most beautiful people he’s ever met.   
Hands around his torso and waist, Jaskier knows he is loved, protected, and forever safe with them by his side.


	3. That Middle Bit, Explained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Geraskier focused work bc why not? I do it for the girls and the gays thats IT. 
> 
> This is really short and was actually supposed to go in the first chapter but didn't fit? So I thought I'd add it as like. a little extra bit. as a treat.

Jaskier isn’t introduced to Yennefer for a while, strangely. 

He understands the couple’s need to keep things consensual and aware, but well, Jaskier never had an issue with polyamory. Plus, from the pictures Geralt has shown him of the two of them, she was as beautiful as the moon herself. 

Not that he was complaining that much, laying on Geralt’s chest in a dark room with a movie playing on screen reminds him of his humility. Geralt brushes his fingers through his hair, drawing soft content noises from Jaskier occasionally. 

The man was emotionally constipated, for sure. And definitely was dealing with a lot of past masculinity issues. It took him a hot second to get used to Jaskier holding his hand on coffee dates or kisses after dates. Even now, before Jaskier got comfortable, he could feel Geralt’s hesitance. Certainly not the first man he’s met who was new to being physically affectionate with a man, or new to even dating men. But he was certainly the first to be so… darling about it. 

Every pause in his step was met with an apology, every bump met with communication. And Jaskier would simply run his hands down Geralt’s arms and remind him, no, dear heart, you don’t need to apologize for learning. It’s those unbelievably tender moments that throw Jaskier from finding his delightfully buff man with stark white long hair into someone he knows he loves. 

Someone he knows he’d never recover from if they broke up.   
The thought chokes him, gripping tighter to Geralt’s shirt. Immediately, Geralt fumbles to brush Jaskier’s brown hair out of his face to reveal soft lines of tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Jas? Are you alright?” The tenderness in his voice is so vivid. He remembers his past exes who would be dismayed with any show of emotion. Any affection beyond sexual. But now he can simply sit with Geralt for hours. No pressure to move things any quicker than the pace Jaskier sets. To be so kind to broken pieces brings him such… contentment. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks again, wiping away his tears and moving to sit in front of him. 

“It’s not fair,” Jaskier laughs wetly, feeling the warmth from his boyfriend brush his cheeks with such gentle touch, “It’s not fair how much I love you.” 

The other’s mouth gapes, clearly in shock. 

“You don’t have to say it back, of course, Geralt. You’ve just been so kind with me, I think I’ve fallen far further than I intended so quickly. You make me laugh when I’m trying to be cross with you, you bastard.” He giggles and grips Geralt’s hands, worried they might pull away. 

“I…” Geralt swallows hard, his throat clicks dry. 

“You don’t have to say it, I promise! This isn’t a guilt thing, Geralt--” 

Two hands cup his face with care and pull him into a kiss. Once again, the world feels right. Everything beyond them, the universe and more, disappeared for this moment where Geralt and him kiss without care. 

Geralt pulls back, clearing his throat awkwardly, “I love you.” 

And the laughter that pulls from Jaskier’s throat chimes like bells never could. That night, they lay with Jaskier’s face pressed between Geralt’s shoulder blades like the universe intended it should.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like, support my work through my Ko-fi or through asks on my blog! 
> 
> KO-FI: https://ko-fi.com/yourarodad  
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> 
> <3


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